The Cairo Code (69 page)

“She and Deacon will do whatever is necessary to carry this through. We now know the passageway is usable, and Roosevelt is inside the compound. The rest is up to them.”

“Deacon knows about her?”

“He's been aware of our plans from the start. Kleist, too. I insisted on it. With that temper of his, he was likely to have tried to kill the woman once she had outlived her apparent usefulness.” Schellenberg smiled. “Not that he would have succeeded for a moment. She's more than capable of looking after herself, and a truly excellent shot.”

Canaris still hadn't got over the shock. He shivered, looked out at the rain, the grim black clouds hanging over nighttime Berlin. His anger was gone. It seemed pointless; everything was beyond his control. After a time, he turned back. “But do you honestly believe she can kill Roosevelt?”

“Believe me, if there's even a slim hope that anyone can finish this, Nightingale can.”

Weaver sat there, his face as if carved in stone, every muscle taut. It was very still in the room, the silence overpowering. Halder didn't utter a word, thunderstruck, until Rachel Stern had finished talking.

“I have to admit, you fooled me completely,” he said very quietly, still in shock, his voice almost a whisper. “The business of the camp, the reasons why Schellenberg wanted you as part of this, the hostility towards me at first. They all rang true. But I can see now I was gravely mistaken. It was all a sham.”

A look like remorse crossed her face. “None of it my fault, Jack. Like you, I was caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea, obliged to do Schellenberg's bidding.” She came back slowly from the window. “You look stricken, Harry. Have I disappointed you that much?”

Weaver felt at a total loss for words. He flinched, as if he'd received a physical blow, managed to whisper hoarsely, “More than you'll ever know.”

“I'm sorry it had to be this way.”

Halder said bitterly, “Very touching, but you can keep the phony anguish, it doesn't mean a thing. You never had an ounce of feeling for either Harry or me, ever. Did you? It was all a game.”

She looked at them both steadily, a kind of grief in her eyes. “Is that what you really believe, Jack?”

“I believe I've been an utter fool—the rest of it is really immaterial. Except what happens next.”

“You're coming with Deacon and me. You got close to Roosevelt once already. You can do it again. But this time you'll have me as company. And if by any chance there's an afterwards, we're flying out of here.”

“You mind telling me how?”

“The way Deacon arranged in case of emergency. His Egyptian officer friend will make the pickup from a desert strip near Sakkara, and fly us to a German airbase on Crete.”

“Take it from me, even if anyone made it on board they'll be blasted from the skies.”

“Deacon doesn't seem to think so. The route's been worked out. Once the aircraft is north of Port Said, German night fighters will be waiting to guide it to safety.”

“And who's going to do the dirty deed at the hotel?”

“Me. That was the intention—if you failed, or Skorzeny's men didn't arrive.”

“How?” Halder shook his head at Rachel. “You won't stand a chance in hell of getting near Roosevelt, never mind killing him and getting away with it.”

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to play that hand as it falls. But as for the how—” Rachel produced Deacon's Luger, put down the machine pistol and took something from her pocket. Halder instantly recognized the oblong metal shape. She fitted it on the end of the Luger. “A new silencer the SD has developed. The best they've ever produced. If I fired behind your back you wouldn't even know about it.”

She pointed the gun at Halder, squeezed the trigger. There was a barely audible sound, like a tiny cough, and a slug whispered past Halder's ear, embedded itself in the plasterwork behind. She fired again, deliberately to the right this time, hitting one of the Nubian death masks on the wall, a clean shot between the eyes.

“I'm impressed,” Halder said, glancing at the result. “So, I lead you in through the passageway and you take your chances?”

“Is there any other option?”

“You could always forget about the whole stupid thing.”

She looked at him solemnly, shook her head. “I can't do that, Jack. And now you know the reasons why.”

“You can't really believe in all that Nazi nonsense? The thousand-year Reich, one people, one Führer?”

She hesitated, a shadow crossed her face, emotion welling in the corners of her eyes.

“What I believe in is really of no consequence. Except I have a family rotting in the Gestapo's cellars, and I don't want them to die there. And a country that's being bombed to ruins night and day. If it doesn't stop soon, there'll be nothing left for anyone, nothing fit for decent people.”

“You poor, stupid fool. Don't you see? It may be a deadly game we're playing here, but it's still only a game. Nothing you do will make the slightest bit of difference. The Allies will still win the war.”

Rachel didn't reply, and as Weaver sat there, ashen-faced, listening to it all, totally puzzled, he looked at Halder. “You mentioned a passageway,” he said hoarsely. “What did you mean?”

“I'm afraid you're way behind in the game, Harry. There's a fatal weakness in your president's defenses.”

Halder explained about the tunnel, and Weaver couldn't control his anger as he stared at Rachel, his voice full of emotion, almost savage. “Killing Roosevelt isn't going to end this war, it's only going to make it worse. There's not an American soldier alive who wouldn't feel outraged and want revenge. They'd want to see Germany on its knees. And they'd keep on fighting for as long as it took, and they'd never give up. Not till hell freezes over.”

“All of which changes nothing, Harry, I'm afraid,” Rachel said to him. “I still have a mission to complete. As for you and your friend, you won't be harmed, not so long as you do as you're told. You'll be tied up and left somewhere where you'll be in no danger of being discovered, until long after this is over. And now, Jack, I really think it's time we left. Harry may be bluffing, but if he's not, we might have company soon.”

“There's one slight problem.”

“What?”

“I'm not going with you.”

Rachel leveled the gun. Halder said with resignation, his face very calm, “Shoot me if you have to, but the answer's still no. It stops here. I've had my bellyful of death and destruction. I've played my part and come to the end of the tracks.”

“What about your son?”

Halder struggled to contain his emotions. “I think I accepted I'd never see Pauli again the moment I agreed to go along with this insanity. And the answer's still the same.”

There was a frightening look of pain on his face as he stared levelly at Rachel Stern. Finally, she said in defeat, “Very well, Jack. Have it your way.”

The door opened and Deacon came back, Kleist behind him. “The signal's been acknowledged.”

“And the woman?”

“In the cellar, tied securely,” Kleist answered. He carried Helen Kane's uniform on his arm. “I thought this might come in useful.”

To Weaver's horror, he held up her ID, grinning broadly. “And you'll never believe what I found in her pocket. A special pass for the compound.”

As Rachel studied the pass, Deacon eagerly crossed the room, tugged at Weaver's tunic pocket, and removed his ID wallet. “They're both carrying special passes. It seems Lady Luck might be on our side after all.”

Weaver was totally dismayed. Halder said to Deacon, “So, you knew the truth of it all along.”

“Kleist too, obviously. A sad state of affairs when one German can't completely trust another, but there you have it, Major.”

“Don't you think there's been enough killing, Deacon? The war's over for Germany, even the dogs in the bazaar know that. You'll be wasting your lives continuing with this.”

Deacon ignored him, turned to Rachel. “Are we ready?”

“I'm afraid the major's not coming. It's just you and me.”

Deacon scowled, nodded at the gun in her hand. “Can't you change his mind?”

“It's pointless. We'll have to take our chances alone.”

Deacon regarded Halder with contempt. “Such a pity you chose to be a traitor. You've probably missed your chance to be part of history.” He looked back at Rachel. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He still gets on the plane. Even if we don't.”

Deacon didn't argue. “Very well. And the other one?”

She gave Weaver a lingering look. “You'll have to keep him and the woman safely out of the way until long after we've gone.”

Kleist had a bloodthirsty glint in his eyes. “Better to kill them all, here and now.”

She turned on him, fiercely. “None of them are to be harmed, that's an order. You'll do as I say.” She handed him the M3 machine pistol. “Take this. Use it—but only if you have to. And I mean that, Kleist.”

Kleist tucked his pistol into his waistband and took the machine pistol sullenly, as Rachel shot Weaver and Halder a meaningful look. “I just hope you'll both take the chance I've offered you. Play it correctly, and you'll live.”

Deacon said, “Seeing as the major's deserted us, I suggest we take the motorcycle—it'll be faster. A straight run across the desert to the village of Nazlat as-Saman, like you did earlier.”

Weaver looked at Rachel with sudden vehemence. “You'll never get near Roosevelt. You'll be dead before you get ten paces across the lawns.”

There was a strange look on her face, unfathomable pain or remorse, and for a moment her eyes softened. “I'm afraid I've crossed the river on this one, Harry, and it's far too late to turn back. So if you don't see me again, think of me sometimes.” She looked at Halder. “You too, Jack. Or is that too much to ask?”

There was a long silence. Neither of them replied, and she turned briskly to Deacon, as if she couldn't bear to see their accusing stares a second longer. “Let's go.”

She left the room, and as Deacon made to follow her out, he said to Kleist, “Take the boat south as far as Memphis with Hassan, and go by foot to the landing area.” He checked his watch. “Give us until oh three-thirty hours at the latest, the time Captain Rahman's aircraft is scheduled to land.”

“And if you don't show by then?”

“You leave without us,” Deacon answered grimly. “You heard what to do about Weaver and his lady friend. The same with Halder.”

“Don't worry, they're in safe hands.”

Deacon shot a pointed glance at Kleist and lowered his voice. “I hope not. Personally, I think the woman's making a grave mistake letting them live. A bad case of sentiment, I'm sure.”

Kleist grinned at him, cradled the machine pistol in his arms. “You'd have given different orders?”

“Wouldn't you?”

In the Presidential Suite of the Mena House, Agent Jim Griffith heard the telephone jangle like an alarm bell.

He jolted, came wide awake. He'd been resting on one of the couches in the suite's reception room, and when he reached for the phone he saw his shift leader, Howie Anderson, stretch his arms as he lounged in the chair opposite.
“Jeez,
ain't there no rest for the wicked?”

“Not if they happen to work for the Secret Service.” Griffith smiled and spoke into the receiver. “Watch number one. Griffith.”

He listened, then said, “Yes, sir, got it,” and replaced the receiver, as Anderson yawned and looked at his wristwatch. “What's up?”

“Two visitors on their way from the lobby. Ambassador Kirk and General George Clayton. They want to see the Chief.”

“At this hour?” Anderson rubbed his eyes, already knew that both men's names were on the special visitor list, and that they would have been cleared by the outer perimeter, but he checked the clipboard just the same. “Must be darned important. You want to wake him?”

“Sure.” Griffith was about to move towards the short corridor that led to the president's bedroom when the knock came from the guard outside.

“Seems like the Chief's guests are in one heck of a hurry,” remarked Anderson, and he picked up the Thompson submachine gun lying propped beside the door, readying the drum magazine in the crook of his arm. “They must have taken the stairs five at a time.”

Griffith kept his hand on the butt of his holstered Smith & Wesson .38, crossed the room, knocked back, and asked the guard outside for the password. When he received it, he opened the door, Anderson already a couple of steps behind, covering him with the Thompson.

Ambassador Alex Kirk and General George Clayton stood impatiently in the corridor. Griffith scrutinized their security passes. “The president,” said Kirk bluntly.

“He's still asleep, sir.”

“Then wake him. Quickly.”

Hassan came back, and they heard the motorcycle start up outside. Kleist still had the M3 in his hands, a gloating look on his face. “So, you finally got to know the truth, Halder? Though I'm hardly surprised you turned out to be a cowardly traitor. Well, what have you got to say for yourself?”

“Whatever it is, you'd never listen, so go to the Devil.”

Kleist crossed the room, hatred burning like coal in his eyes, and grabbed Halder tightly by the hair. “You and your Prussian kind make me sick. Arrogant, the lot of you. I asked you a question.”

Halder ignored him, said to Weaver, “You're looking at the animal responsible for murdering those two officers in cold blood at the crash site. As well as butchering a couple of Egyptian policemen.”